Christening
by Rothelena
Summary: Tag for ep. 3.12 "Bloodhounds". Exceedingly explicit, PWP, M. Just another filthy tag on the way to season four.


_Tag for ep.3.12 "Bloodhounds"._

_Thanks for your reviews, my friends, you never fail to make my day. Here is another one: smutty, PWP, M, business as usual._

Christening

Jane had looked at the file Dr. Montague had given him for hours, resting on his makeshift bed in the attic. It was awfully late, and he felt like he always did when the inebriation of dealing with Red John finally wore off: cold and dizzy.

He looked at his mobile to check the time: well after midnight. And now of all times he needed touching. He groaned. He hated himself when he discarded her for Red John. When he found it more important to look at possibly useless stuff than to hold her in his arms and let her warmth seep into his skin. It added to his feelings of guilt- feelings which simply built his core. Feelings that made him push people away. Even those he loved most. No- even the single one he loved. Patrick Jane wasn't big on loving these days. But he didn't need much. Just her.

He sighed, hugging himself against the faint chill around him. It was far too late to bother her, so he had to make do without her.

He was just about to allow himself a teeny weeny bit of self-pity when the door to his lair was wrenched open. He recognized her steps immediately and felt a wave of gratitude wash over him. He sat up on his bed and looked at her.

Beautiful Teresa. Her name burned on his tongue.

"Hey," she said softly, "case closed."

He felt the urge to skip the preliminaries. He knew it added to the mystery that was Patrick Jane that he always stayed aloof, somehow out of reach, even when he opened his heart to be loved. But he didn't want to be unavailable with her. He wanted to be hers. Tonight, he didn't want to be mysterious. He just wanted to melt into her.

"Yes," he said, "case closed."

There was so much more, but he couldn't talk through the lump in his throat. She had never come to him. He initiated their after hour contacts, and somehow he felt as if he had let her down this time. He wanted to tell her how much he had longed for her. But he stayed silent. He felt his body reacting to her closeness. His skin started to prickle, blood rushing into his groin area. It still felt new to him to want that much. And it took much to just accept that he wasn't a loner anymore.

"The couch you bought me," she muttered, "it's…quite beautiful. And, okay- it's utterly comfortable."

He blinked. It hadn't been a grand gesture, he'd just bought that couch on a whim, absolutely hating her old, uncomfortable one. But he'd taken his time to find the right one…the perfect one.

"I knew you'd like it," he smiled, beaming with glee, "you're welcome, Lisbon."

There was a moment of silence, and he could feel how strange this was for her- to open the game like this. His insides warmed when he realized how much she must have wanted him. She had possibly waited for him for hours, sitting in her office, hoping he would come to her and do what he always did- behave like an irreverent go-getter and seduce her with his the-devil-may-care-attitude. He knew his dedication gave her an excuse to allow him into her bed. This time, she had to go get him. And he could see in her face that it wasn't easy for her to admit that she was quite desperate for him.

Teresa Lisbon, scrupulous team leader of the Serious Crimes Unit, didn't pull pretty boys into her bed. Too bad she so much wanted to screw this one. Somehow, it made Jane feel better to know that she was new to those kind of emotions, too. He'd felt nothing but guilt ever since his family had died. Now he felt so much more, and it scared him sometimes. The need was stronger than everything he'd thought to be the strongest forces in his life. Not the need for sex. Not even the need for sex with her. The need for her. For all of her. Nothing but her.

"This couch…" she murmured, "care to christen it?"

He knew she hadn't come to chat, but the power of his lust shocked him every time. His manhood got so hard it felt like marble, skin stretched so taut it was almost painful. He swallowed the gasp that threatened to escape his lips.

He got up slowly and approached her, taking her hand in his. How small she was, everywhere. He loved how he was always able to engulf her completely- how her small frame was just a perfect handful for him. He'd never been into petite women, but he was completely into her. He smiled softly. She was pocket-sized, though she would probably kill him if he ever called her that.

He tugged at her hand and led her through the dark hallways. It was so silent they could hear their own steps overly loud, reverberating from the walls. They entered her office and he just stood there, watching her, while she locked the door and closed all the blinds. They more often than not didn't bother with those, but he noticed that she possibly felt raw and vulnerable tonight, needing the security of an enclosed room around her. His hard-on throbbed insistently. How did she make him so hot? He decided to give her a present.

He undressed quickly, as fast as he could, while she was still busy creating their tiny cave for them. When she had finished, he approached her in the dark room, illuminated only by the faint glow of her desk lamp. He knew she liked it when he was already completely naked while she was still fully dressed. Tonight, he was ready to give her that power.

She wrapped her arms around his naked form, their standing position granting her ample access to every part of him, and he moaned softly when her hands found his buttocks, tracing the hard muscle she could feel there with her fingers. She kneaded slightly, pressing his erection against her abdomen in the process, and he clung to her shoulders to keep his balance. He gently pulled at her hair until she raised her face to him, and he claimed her luscious lips in a sensual kiss, smooching languidly, producing much sound, spreading his taste over her receptive mouth. He felt her shudder in his arms and started to undress her, slowly, piece for piece, taking his time to savor every inch of creamy skin he revealed.

He didn't know how he would have survived the night without this. Couldn't remember why he hadn't come to her. What in hell had kept him away from this?

Her breasts were so soft in his hands, and her tiny body against his ignited protectiveness and possessiveness at the same time. He hadn't felt both in what seemed like eons. He almost suffered from the urge to make her his. In moments like this, he sometimes longed to do something completely crazy. Like driving to Las Vegas with her to get married- immediately. He had dreams of waking up to a situation that had them bonded together for lifetime. That prevented her escape. He knew he was a fluffy idiot. But he couldn't help his fantasies.

He reluctantly pulled free from her embrace and discarded her pants and panties, getting her as naked as him.

He took the tiny carpet in front of the door and put it on the floor close to the couch.

He smiled when he saw her questioning gaze.

"You want to christen the couch with my seed, Lisbon?", he whispered, "Spattering the fabric for everyone to see?"

"Not a good idea, huh?" she asked.

He chuckled.

"I'm flattered," he breathed, "but no-it's not a good idea. Kneel down."

She knelt down in front of the couch, her hands on the upholstery, and he got mesmerized by the enticing view of her back immediately. She was like a magnet, pulling him towards her, tying him down. He couldn't have resisted to save his life.

He spread her legs and sank to his knees between them, embracing her tightly, his hands resting on her breasts. They were made for his touch, his fingers tingled under the softness, so much softness, and he felt so dizzy with want.

"I can't touch you in this position, Patrick Jane," she whispered flirtatiously, defying her own words when her hands slid backwards over his hips, his butt, his thighs, making him groan with the exquisite sensations. He tightened his grip on her breasts, rubbing her nipples into hard little peaks, sending jolts of pleasure into her groin.

"If you think I will do you just once tonight, woman," he growled, "you don't know me nearly as well as you think you do."

"I would never dare to think that I know anything about you," she breathed, and he chuckled.

"Smart girl."

But he knew he was just playing games. There was no one who knew him better than Teresa Lisbon. And sometimes, he found himself thinking there never had been one. It made him shiver with fear. How could he have let that happen?

He gently pushed at her shoulders and bent her over, feeling her female flesh opening for his intrusion. She spread her legs wider, knowing how deep she needed him. His erection nudged her folds and a hissing sound escaped her lips- she felt burned by his enormous heat. Sensed the violent throbbing in his engorged glans. He was panting. His hands trembling on her waist.

His member parted the wet, soft tissue, pushing inside her with blunt force. No matter how much she braced herself for this first moment of penetration, it always blew her mind. She felt inch for inch of him entering her, the exquisite hardness rippling across her walls, fraying tender nerves that screamed for more despite the overwhelming agony he ignited. Jane pulled back slightly and slid home in one deep stroke, filling her completely, impaling her on his blazing shaft. She cried out, her fingers clutching the pillows in front of her, her body aflame with need. She could feel his cock pulsating in synch with her heartbeat, so deep inside her she didn't know where he ended and she began. He reached so far in this position, her womb convulsed against the intruder, his cock filling her fornix, the ultimate recess of her small body. It felt so good that she could accommodate him, cradle him inside her core, make enough room for the deepest penetration she'd ever had.

"I love you," she whispered, and she knew she meant every word, her heart clenching under the violent emotions coursing through her.

He shuddered and started to thrust into her, overwhelmed by the depths of his emotions, pulling back almost completely before he took her to the hilt again, making her cry out every time his cock hit the ultimate limits of her core. He felt her stretching for him, felt the torturous friction her sheath exerted on his shaft, and he knew he wouldn't last long. He angled his hips so that his length rubbed against her clit with every thrust and picked up speed, picked it up until he was pounding into her so forceful her whole body shook under his onslaught.

He couldn't stop, it felt too good, he groaned louder and louder, filling her up, again, again, his erection hardening further, growing, stretching her more, she was tensing beneath him, her walls clenched softly before she came so hard he gasped with the force of it. Her core jammed down on his thrusting piston, squeezing him so tight he couldn't see for a moment, everything going black. Yes, his soaring soul cried out, yes, I need that- he welcomed the painful ecstasy that infused his system, succumbed to her with everything that was in him. These were the only moments when he could simply let go- the only time when he could forget the guilt completely and diffuse into a mass of sensation.

He didn't stop thrusting, invading, claiming. He knew he needed her more than his next breath, knew he was lost without her, and love hit him like a fist.

The feeling spread over his insides like a warm cloak, and he blasted his seed into her with the speed of a major explosion. Desperate, strangled sounds were torn from his throat, he'd never ejaculated like he did with her, it felt like dying, cleansing, uncompromising, urgent. It stripped him bare, ripped the mask off his face, and he knew, when he'd come inside her, he was transparent like glass for a moment, open for her to read him like a book. It was his gift to her. This precious moment of utter commitment. Nothing could be stronger than that. He spent inside her like a fiend, erupting in huge, searing waves of semen, filling her core with it while she cried out, her screams muffled by the pillow she'd buried her face against. Her walls were still contracting around him violently, and he whimpered when even more cum flooded her insides, hitting her womb in a relentless torrent. He couldn't give more, but she drained him completely, demanding everything he had.

He pulled out of her the second he had emptied himself, turning her in his arms until she straddled his hips, and he knelt back on his heels to support her weight on his thighs. His cock was hard enough to slide back into her, he felt the heat of his own semen against his flushed skin. His shaft twitched inside her when he looked into her eyes. Knowing she read his emotions on his features. Her trembling fingers touched his face, and he felt something warm and wet on his cheeks, wondering about it before he realized he was crying. He tried to wipe the tears away, but she stilled his hands and simply kissed the moisture off his skin.

He couldn't say anything for a while, but he knew she understood. Feeling so much was dangerous for him. Every time. So she just stroked his back and held him close to her, allowing him to hide inside her. He pushed his face against the nape of her neck, inhaling her sweet scent. Cinnamon. So warm and gentle, a home. His home, if she would accept him. He clutched her tighter. Never in his life would he get closer to happiness, and he would savor every moment.

"Want to come home with me?" she whispered eventually.

"I'd never let you leave without me." He answered softly.

It was a promise. And a threat. Proof of what she had gotten herself into. But he could see she was not afraid. She knew the worst of him. And she had never shied away.

"I know," she breathed and claimed his mouth in a sweet, sealing kiss.

**The End**

_Okay, liked that one? Pretty please with cherry on top: Leave a review! I'd be forever grateful!_


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